


Cupcakes

by motherconfessor



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cupcakes, F/F, Face-Sitting, Missing Scene, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27881685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherconfessor/pseuds/motherconfessor
Summary: Miranda is after cupcakes when she comes across your little boutique shop.
Relationships: Miranda Croft/You
Comments: 29
Kudos: 73





	Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, set during ep 4. I know.

The cupcakery was your business, you’d been running it for a few years now and had built it up to have a substantial status, known for the boutique cupcakes that people were willing to spend the extra dollars on. You’d built the recipes from scratch, and although the business had grown to the point that you’d hired someone to do the grunt work, the cakes remained yours by design. You were up at five every morning, coming in to ice the cakes and ensure they met your presentation, before setting the first lot out in the glass cabinets to be shown by eight o’clock.

Socialites would place in orders, keeping you busy when people decided to go on diets––and as it was, you were stuck back late today because of a last-minute order for a bridal shower. Two dozen cupcakes were ordered, set to be picked up tomorrow morning, eight on the dot. There was no room for error.

Which meant that when close came, you’d forgotten to flip the sign and lock the front door, having moved to the back of the kitchen to ensure the cupcakes were cooling properly on their racks, so you could soon ice and decorate them before leaving for the night.

However, in your rush to ensure everything was prepped for the bridal shower (having sent your employee home for the evening) you’d forgotten to flip the sign.

So when the bell rang above the door, and you looked up at the time, you felt dread run down your spine. You couldn’t refuse service. It wasn’t their fault they weren’t aware that the store was closed.

Cleaning your hands, you stepped out from the kitchen to the front, fixing your apron as you gave a smile. “Evening,” you greeted. “Anything I could help you with?”

The woman’s eyes ran around the shelves that you still hadn’t had a chance to pack away. After the day’s sales, there’s were only a dozen cupcakes left, and you usually ended up dropping them off to the hospital on your way home.

The woman’s eyes flashed to yours, a smile on her face. “What can you tell me about this one?” she asked, pointing to the _Golden Apple_.

“Apple and cinnamon, with a cream cheese icing. It’s sort of an apple pie design, but there’s a pinch of cloves and cardamom to add some heat to it. Kind of chai based, if you like that.”

The woman nodded, her eyes flicking around to the other cupcakes. “And…this one?”

“Red velvet, standard recipe.”

She eyed it, her eyes drawing over the small designs you added for presentation before she turned around the other cupcakes. “You don’t happen to have any of these?” she asked, tapping the glass. You ducked down, looking at the card she was pointing to.

“Oh, the Ruby-Rose?” you frowned. You _did_ technically since you were in the process of icing them in preparation for the bridal shower. You’d planned on many extras anyway, so it wouldn’t _hurt_. Except that you would be making her wait, and even though it was only _one_ cupcake, that was still asking for a lot. “I…do, but they haven’t been iced yet. You’d have to wait.”

Really, you should have said no, but her teeth caught her bottom lip, her eyes lighting up. “I wouldn’t be able to have a taste at all, would I?”

“Oh, ah, the cake its self is just vanilla-bean based with a bit of rose essence, but most of the flavour comes from the um, the icing and chocolate decoration.”

The woman was pressing closer, her head tilting with interest as if she was waiting for you to answer her question.

Which had been about taste testing, you realised.

“Did you want to try the icing?” you asked.

“ _Please_ ,” she purred, and the way her face moved shot thrill down your spine. It wasn’t sexual, but it _felt_ sexual.

“O-of course,” you agreed. “I’ll just be a moment,” you advised. And then you ducked back into the kitchen, where your prep was laid out. You didn’t usually give taste testing like this unless it was for an event––and then you would have that planned, usually having baked small bite-size versions of the cake.

This was unethical.

Rummaging through the drawers, you pulled out a teaspoon and then went to the bowl of icing you’d made, ready to place into the pipe, scooped a bit with the spoon. Just a taste, you assured yourself. A shiver ran down your spine.

Walking back, you handed over the teaspoon, expecting her to take it from you. Instead, you watched as she leant forward, her mouth parting open as her lips wrapped around the spoon.

You gasped, and slowly let your fingers go, watching as she pulled back with a smirk and took hold of the spoon, her tongue stroking over the tip to catch any of the icing she’d missed. “I quite like that. Could I be…a pain and ask for two? A friend of mine is _terribly_ upset with me, and I feel like this will just…help to smooth things over.”

“Can’t imagine anyone being upset with you,” you said, before pressing your mouth shut, realising your mistake. You probably shouldn’t flirt with prospect patrons, no matter how seductively they licked the spoon.

But the woman only grinned, holding onto the spoon with one hand. “That’s very sweet of you to say. But I’m sure one of these…decadent cupcakes would certainly be a helping hand.”

“Does she like rose?”

“Not sure, but I certainly do,” she smiled then, leaning over the glass. “Could I be a terrible pain, and try one of the others?” she asked.

“Ohh, um…”

“Your boss won’t mind, will they?”

“Well, I hope not, because that’s me. I’m…I’m the boss.”

The woman gave a delighted smile, “Well, look at you. I’ll place a good word in then.”

You hummed, knowing that you _should_ try and make a sale, but…the way she was looking at you had your heart fluttering. “What would you like to try?”

“Ohh, let’s see,” she stepped back, looking over the shelves and then watched as her face shifted into amusement, tapping her finger against the glass. “How about this one?”

“ _La Petite Morte_ ,” you confirmed, watching her smile brighten. “That’s a personal favourite of mine.”

Reaching in with tongs, you pulled it out and handed it over to her. This time, she took it in her hand and peeled back the paper around the base before taking a bite.

A moan sounded from the back of her throat, and you felt your own lips part, watching as her eyes squeezed shut and then sprung open as if she was truly in the throes of passion. You _knew_ , somewhere, deep down that it was just a show. But it didn’t stop the low flicker in your belly watching as she pulled back and licked her lips.

Icing remained on her mouth, and you felt an urge to reach out and wipe at it. But you held your hand back and just gave a soft nod. “You, umm, you have…”

“Could you get it? I don’t have a mirror on me.”

“It’s––umm,” you wanted to say to her that it was on her mouth, but your words were swallowed as she leant forward across the glass cabinets separating you.

And then before you could stop yourself, you were reaching across. With your thumb, you swiped it over her bottom lip to catch the icing. And then, you watched as she held your eyes, her mouth parting as her tongue came out and licked at the icing on your thumb before she pulled back, looking devilishly wicked.

Despite the cold weather outside, you felt your whole body alight with warmth, knowing that that image would remain on repeat in the late hours of the evening.

“Miranda,” she introduced.

“Hi, Miranda.”

“Invite a girl on the other side of that counter?”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. But the cupcakes were cooling, and she was looking at you like she knew exactly how to fill that time. You walked over to where the bench next to the register lifted and welcomed her across.

“Oh, I should…” you quickly walked to the door, flipping the _Open_ sign to _Closed_ before walking back. Miranda stood behind the bench, her head tilted as she watched you with cat-like curiosity. And then as soon as the counter was placed down in position, she had her hands on the string of your apron, tugging it undone before she threw it onto the counter.

And then you watched as she slowly tugged her gloves off, setting one and then the other on the counter.

You knew what was to follow, and yet you could feel your brain short-circuiting. _This._ Really? _Her_ …here?

And then she was pressing against you with a laugh before her mouth was on yours, and you could taste your cupcake on her lips. _And wasn’t it just buttery-sweet?_ Entirely decadent.

Her mouth parted, and her tongue drew over yours. She tasted divine, and it was like sparks were bursting from her to you as you felt her press you against the wall and then drag you down to the floor.

_It was wrong_ to have sex here. But you just wouldn’t take these cupcakes to the hospital, and you would wash the floor, as you did every night, and you would clean down the benches and counters as you always did, wiping everything down.

Her hand slid through your hair, down your body and squeezed at your breast enough that you moaned against her mouth.

You tugged at the belt on her coat, unfastening it quickly before you slid it from her shoulders. She was trying to lead, and you could feel her hand drawing down, tugging at the waist of your trousers. But you were a pastry chef at heart, and you wanted to taste her.

Your fingers were fast, unbuckling and pulling her pants down, and then you were pulling away to look at her. She seemed surprised, more than anything else, at your boldness––and then her shoes were kicked off, her pants discarded as she grinned at you, pressing your shoulders back until you were lying flat on the floor.

She drew one leg, and then the other over your shoulders, her hand coming to curl in your hair before she fisted it and tugged your head up.

When you pressed your mouth to her cunt, you felt her shiver, and a low exhale releasing from her lunge as you drew the length of your tongue across her vulva, before you drew around the labia, sucking over it as you pulled away, before doing the same with the other side.

Miranda’s hand curled tighter in your hair, her hips grinding down against your tongue as she drew in a low, deep breath.

She was still wearing her black blouse as you drew your hands up her hips, under the silk, your tongue stroking firm, again and again, pressing against the opening and dipping in enough to hear her moan, low and deep in her throat, before exhaling through to the air.

Wetness slid over your tongue in response, and you gripped her tighter, lips drawing over her cunt as if you could summon more with needy kisses.

She was quickly becoming aroused, her breaths turning into soft, panted gasp as you pressed firm against her, finally drawing your tongue up and around the clit to feel her hips jerk in response.

“If I didn’t know better,” she said, pausing to gasp, “I’d think you’d done this before. Tricked some god-forsaken customer out of her pants.”

You tried not to laugh––wanting to point out that _whom seduced whom_ , but instead kept your attention focused.

Your eyes looked up at her from beneath her thighs, tongue drawing back down across the vulva, and you heard her moan, her thighs clenching around your face firmer than you expect. Her hips rocked, sliding against your tongue and from between her legs, you watched as her body lengthened, her head bowing as she seemed to chase the growing tension.

She tasted divine, the arousal coating your tongue and slipping down your throat as you eagerly drew over her cunt––as if this were about your pleasure over hers. She didn’t seem to mind, her thighs squeezed, her hips rocked and the hand in your hair tugged hard, shoving you where she needed.

She barely let you breathe, her desire to chase the coming climax paramount to your need to draw in oxygen, and then you heard a whimper, her teeth bared as she squeezed around your legs.

You focused your attention solely on getting her there, tongue stroking firm and felt as, under your hands, your work paid off. Miranda’s muscles stretched and pulled, jarring movements shuddering through her as she gasped and then seemed to hiss out a breath, her eyes squeezing shut, “ _Jesus-fucking-christ_ ,” she spat and then you felt the wetness soak against your tongue, her body shaking before the hand in your hair tugged. She was pushing you away as she sat up on her knees, looking down at you.

Her breath came in short, sharp pants. Her cheeks flushed as she looked down at your similar, out-of-breath form. “ _Well_ ,” she said. “Colour me impressed. And here I thought you’d be getting a quick fuck out of me.”

You smiled up at her. “I have _not_ had a customer sit on my face in my shop,” you clarified. “Definitely a new experience.”

Miranda made a humming noise, perhaps of agreement, or simply confirming that she had heard you speak before she rose to her feet. And then you watched as she began to dress.

Well, she was satisfied, you supposed. But you couldn’t help but feel the disappointment. As it was, it was getting late, and you needed to finish your work before eight a.m. came rolling around. “I’ll ice those cakes for you,” you told her.

“No need. I’ll take those two,” she said, pointing to the red velvet. You watched as she grinned sharply, picking her jacket up, off from the ground. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you,” she said, pulling it on. “I have an errand to run for my friend and then I’m sure I’ll be able to find my way back to you.”

You flushed underneath her stare and looked away. “You don’t need to.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she tutted, her lips pursing in a patronising attempt, probably to get under your skin. “It’s only fair. After all, I might want to see what else you have to offer.”

You watched the coat become belted up again before she took her gloves, sliding them on one hand and the other. Remembering yourself, you grabbed one of the green boxes and placed the Red Velvets into the box for her, folding them up neatly before handing it over.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, smiling.

“Find me later,” you told her boldly. “I’m sure I could work out a suitable price.”

At that, her eyes heated, arousal returning as she drew in a breath and looked over your tussled form. And then she was turning on her heel, a smirk on her face as she exited your shop.

Even if you didn’t see her again, you couldn’t say that you were disappointed by how things turned out.


End file.
